


The Bonds We Keep

by Ellesra



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And canon-compliant amounts of violence and angst, Anxiety Attacks, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Slavery, Spoilers: up to ep 62, There will be Porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-08-23 13:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20243704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellesra/pseuds/Ellesra
Summary: Caleb Widogast is quite ready to just hide in a hole with his books until he dies of starvation. The Bright Queen seems to have other plans for him.And so does everyone else, apparently.





	1. The Rewards We Reap

The King’s hall is bathed in merriment it hasn’t seen for a long time. Banners of cheerful colours drape across the walls and ceiling, in honour of both dead and living.

A wide assortment of folk has gathered in the gilded halls, the combination of different nations making the composition all the more colourful.

Caleb Widogast takes in this great muddle of people from his perch on the side of the room. There are species of close to every race around him; there are elves and half-elfs, halflings and dwarfs; gnomes stand in gathered clusters, dragonborn mostly represented in their crownsguard; there are the colourful tieflings and the more muted drow; though mostly separate, there’s also a few goblin, hobgoblins, and orcs all ranging widely in sizes and colour.

Out of this varied crowd, a single drow steps towards him. It is an individual Caleb has met many times, though never in proximity.

“Friendkiller Widogast,” the man utters silkily, as he seems to almost glide into place beside Caleb. The positive emotions he’s been entertaining up until now dwindle; though like embers, they have not quite been extinguished yet.

“Shadowhand,” he greets back, gazing coldly at the other wizard.

While Caleb feels a lot of respect towards this man, who has proven his skill in many a battle, there is also the cool fury usually reserved for enemies. While they no longer will be on opposite sides of a war from today onward, there is still the knowledge of how many of his comrades this person has killed. 

“We are curious to know whether a wardog like yourself can learn new tricks, now that there is no war to wage,” Shadowhand says, and Caleb fights the urge to do… Something. Summon Frumpkin to pee on the other wizard, perhaps. He would have liked to see the drow’s face, had he done so.

Instead, he directs his eyesight outwards, once more taking in the crowd. By the inner part of the throne room, a procession is stepping out from a grand side door. They walk to the throne, the King and his Queen taking the lead. They all step into their alloted places, King and court both.

It isn’t long before another entrance opens. These are the main doors into the chamber, and in steps another procession. At the forefront is the Empress, the Bright Queen herself, regal in her trailing hems and ornate armor. Behind her, comes what can be considered to be her court; the dens, their leaders dressed almost as finely as their queen. As they step inside, Caleb notices Shadowhand slinking away in his own unique fashion. 

The Peace Ceremony starts. Caleb makes sure to keep an eye on the different parties, as the Bright Queen joins the King and Queen at the front of the room. A speech is held by the King, speaking widely on the value of peace and cooperation.

It is bullshit, of course. Peace has only been reached through the Kryn Dynasty getting what they wanted. In the process, Rexxentrum had almost been razed to the ground, the rest of the Empire reduced to ashes.

Even so, they keep up the ruse of peace being a joint decision between the two empires. The Bright Queen takes the lead, once the King had been allowed his little speech.

“The scales have been made even. Now, there is no more necessity for bloodshed. As a show of our intentions, we have brought you these gifts, and we hope that they will set a precedent to a new age of prosperity for us all,” she utters benevolently. She does not raise her voice, and yet it sounds clearly through the crowded hall. A quick glance at the crowd shows them all staring avidly at this beautiful being, citizens of the Empire and Xhorhasians both.

Then there are gifts brought forth. Caleb feels a new spark of interest, seeing them. Ornate armor is given to the king and the queen; boxes with something inside of them is given to the king’s advisors. He wonders whether they contain something magical. Doubtless, he will be asked to look at them this evening, to make certain nothing dangerous resides in them.

These gifts are handed out. Then she beckons behind her, towards one of her Dens. Caleb frowns in confusion as a tiefling steps out, towards the Empress.

“And last, I wish to give a gift to one of yours who has caused us much grief. He has fought against the best of mine and yet lived, and so I give this gift in the hope that he can find joy and peace, now, in the calm times ahead,” she utters, and then she turns and looks directly at Caleb.

It takes a lot of self control to not just shout out his confusion. Instead, he steps towards the dais, forcefully stilling the tremble of his hands. He reaches them, and the Queen’s gaze never leaves him as he moves.

“He is yours, to do with as you wish,” she smiles, and hands him a golden chain.

It is attached to the tiefling.

There is no way he can refuse, and yet he is sorely tempted to throw the leash back at her. She must be well aware that slavery is not permitted within the Empire. 

Caleb steps to the side. He locks his thoughts for now, putting on a blank mask to hide his anger. It will do him no good here. Most likely, it is meant as a power play, a way to show they are entirely within the Bright Queen’s power.

It is not untrue.

The ceremony goes on. It feels like it’s taking forever, and yet it’s too soon when the three rulers share a drink, officially ending this part of the festivities. Caleb is clutching the chain like a lifeline, and wastes no time in getting out of there when it’s over. Meeting the eyes of his King for half a second, the man doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. Likely, he’s just glad that this part is done with.

Shadowhand, on the other side, looks practically gleeful when Caleb passes him by. The tiefling follows close behind him. He makes sure to take the shortest route out of there, which luckily is also the least crowded one.

Walking through the castle, he doesn’t spare a single look at the person he’s leading. Only when the door to his private quarters is closed, does he turn to regard the tiefling.

Several seconds pass by. The other stares back steadily, a slight smile gracing his lips. The tiefling is a purple-tinted grey, dressed in ornate clothes that accentuate the finer lines of his body. The horns and ears are decorated in gold, and, surprisingly, Caleb can see several tattooes winding across his broad shoulders.

“You- You can take off the collar. You are free, as long as you can manage to get out of here unseen,” Caleb tells the man, and turns away. The slight smile had dwindled on the tiefling’s lips. Good, because Caleb is in no mood to be seduced by a brainwashed slave.

“What?” the person says, in perfect common. Caleb goes over to his wardrobe, to find new clothes both for him and the tiefling. He’s certain he put his clothes meant for disguise nearby…

“I said you’re free. You seem to know common, ja? You’ll surely be able to find your way around the Empire. Perhaps go to the Coast. Tieflings are quite normal around those parts,” he utters, and draws out a ratty cloak from the inner part of the closet. 

When he holds out the cloak, though, the tiefling doesn’t reach out for it. He doesn’t seem to be happy with this development, either.

“Sir, uhm, mister Widogast… I can’t leave,” he utters, and Caleb frowns, though not directly at the person. He makes sure to keep his gaze averted.

“I’m sure you could find somewhere to live a full and happy life,” he tries again. Caleb does not want a slave. He doesn’t even want a servant, though he might have need of one. Even on the best of days, he is not very good at taking care of himself. Putting that burden onto a stranger, however, is unthinkable.

The tiefling huffs out in something that sounds like annoyance.  _ Good _ , he thinks. Caleb would not wish being broken of emotions on anyone.

“My name is Mollymauk Tealeaf. I am here willingly, as redemption for a crime I have committed. If you let me go, Mister Widogast, the Dynasty will send me somewhere else. So please, make use of me, because I will be punished if I return before my time is up.”

Caleb glances up at the tiefling’s face. Mollymauk Tealeaf has a determined look on his face, his arms crossed and his stance wide.

“And what time would that be?” he questions. Clearly not a life-time, then. And if he is here willingly, then that is at least somewhat better than what Caleb had envisioned.

“10 years,” Mollymauk answers.

Caleb nods, and raises his hand to rub at his brow tiredly. He goes over to his desk, and sits down. A sigh escapes him. His eyes rest on the stacks of paper, as he tries to figure out what in the nine hells he’s going to do about this.

“Do you have any preference then? On- well, on what I could use you for?” Caleb asks, and tries to come up with some tasks that would be suitable. Perhaps just show him to the other servants? They would likely be able to find some work for him. But then again, would they give him horrible, demeaning tasks, make him a target for their anger towards the Xhorhasian Empire?

“Well… There are several things I am good at,” Mollymauk utters, and his voice has somewhat changed. Caleb hears something drop to the floor, and he glances up at the tiefling.

Just to get an eyeful of an entirely  _ naked _ tiefling.

Hurriedly, he averts his gaze. There is a heat rising to his face.

“Please-  _ verdammt,  _ please put that on again,” he says, turning his back completely on Mollymauk. 

Several seconds pass, and then he hears soft footsteps approaching.

“Mister Widogast,” comes the silky voice from behind him. Glancing over, if only to make sure that Mollymauk isn’t actually preparing to stab him, Caleb sees him leaning against the desk. Thankfully, the tunic is back on, though it is draped in such a way that the gaze is easily pulled towards the shoulder and chest area. “I am not really used to being a servant. I can’t clean or cook, and I am quite useless at bowing my head and staying unseen,” he confides. Caleb stays perfectly still, like that would somehow save him from the suggestive situation.

“What I can do, is make people feel good. I have quite the clever fingers, and I’m certain I could get some of that tension out of your shoulders,” he mutters, and Caleb feels, more than sees, him leaning closer. There is a slight scent of flower-based perfume gracing his nose. 

“Or, if you would prefer, I am quite good at encouraging  _ other _ types of stiffness.” Caleb can feel the breath brushing against his ear. The voice has lowered all the way into a purr, with a clear seductive undertone.

Caleb jumps up, away from the tiefling. As he glances back, he can see a look of surprise on Mollymauk’s face. His entire body is tingling with adrenaline. He hasn’t felt this stressed since he last came face to face with Shadowhand on the battlefield.

Then he hears laughter. Eyeing Mollymauk, he sees him bent over, shoulders shaking. A blush must be turning his face into a tomato, Caleb figures, because he feels horrified.

As well as strangely happy, actually. He hasn’t made someone laugh in a long time.

“I apologize,” Mollymauk utters, grinning widely at him. “You should have seen your face though.”

Caleb shakes his head. The tiefling was right about one thing. He certainly isn’t very servant-like.

“Any, uhm, sexual services will not be needed,” he clarifies, and Mollymauk grins, if possible, even wider.

“Whatever you say, Mr Widogast,” quips the tiefling. Caleb leans his head against the wall, and gazes at the ceiling.

“Just Caleb, please,” he begs. Mollymauk does not respond, but Caleb assumes he might have nodded in response.

Several minutes ticks by. Caleb can hear the other shuffling around a bit, which proves to be Mollymauk looking at the things in his room, once he dares to glance over. 

There is a certain grace to the tiefling’s movements. He walks almost soundlessly, except for the tinkling of his various jewelry. The way he moves on the balls of his feet is not unlike a dancer.

Or, perhaps, a practitioner of certain types of fighting.

A query for another time. Right now, his mind informs him, the time of his pre-arranged meeting with the King and his advisors is fast approaching.

“I need to leave for a bit,” he says as he steps towards his desk again, “but if you would, just, stay here for a bit, we can talk more about things when I get back.”

Mollymauk is staring at him when he looks up, with an expression that Caleb has a hard time reading.

“Alright, mister Caleb. Is there anything I should do while you’re out?”

Caleb takes a moment to think. Then he points his finger towards Mollymauk, and with the slightest  _ poof _ his cat appears on the tiefling’s shoulder. He jumps, wide eyes staring at the cat, Frumpkin calmly gazing back at him.

“You can pet him, if you want,” Caleb says, nodding to himself, and quickly exits the chamber. Arms filled with the papers he needs, he makes his way to the rooms where the meeting will be.

Many boring and tiresome hours later, Caleb comes back to his chambers. Outside, the moon is just barely peaking through the clouds, shedding sparse light in through the window. Other than that, the space is dark, and Caleb curses that he hadn’t shown Mollymauk where the candles are. Or given him anything to do, for that matter.

Speaking of Mollymauk, he sees him lying on his back on the bed, once his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. His eyes are closed, his face slightly illuminated by the moonlight. On his chest lies the purring ball of Frumpkin, who Mollymauk clearly had been petting before falling asleep.

Caleb goes to find one of the larger pelts in the room, and feels a smile curling his lips as he lays the fur over the tiefling’s lower body. Then he walks over to his desk. A flick of his fingers, and a candle flames up, illuminating the papers beside him. He starts working, ignoring his gnawing stomach and heavy eyelids as he continues through the night.


	2. Order of Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains: mental breakdown, some Caleb-type insecurity and making bad life decisions, some more Molly not acting particularly like a slave, and some Nein making an appearance.

When the morning arrives, Caleb realizes that he’s fallen asleep. His pan is plastered to the parchment it was resting on, and it follows him up as he raises his head. Groggily, he takes hold of the paper and peels it from his skin. The ink has smudged to the point that it’s unintelligible.

What a terrible night. It’s far past dusk, his head supplies, and the sun is already shedding light in through the murky windows. He squints, and then he starts, when he realises that Mollymauk is nowhere to be seen.

His eyes rove across the room, resting longer than necessary on the shaded corners, as though the man would just be hiding beside a bookshelf or something.

_ Sheisse _ , he feels horrible. Perhaps it’s for the best, that Mollymauk has taken his leave. It’s not like Caleb has anything to offer a slave anyway, especially not for the next ten years.

“Hey!” comes loudly from behind him. Caleb jumps up. Turning around, he sees a very familiar halfling, staring at him narrowly.

“Ah… Ja, hey, Nott,” he says, and smiles tiredly towards her. She takes another few moments just to look at him, and Caleb feels himself growing nervous as the aim of those sharp eyes.

Then she breathes out a sharp puff of air. “Eh, I can’t stay mad at you,” she utters, and strides into the room like she owns the place. She ends up taking the chair he’s just vacated. Caleb nods to himself, and goes to sit on the bed.

“I saw your boy wandering around,” she comments idly. He blinks at her, and the look she gives him feels like it pierces straight through him.

“Is he lost?” he asks, because that would not be good. He’s already forced Mollymauk to traverse the castle on his own. It wouldn’t do for him to fall into the clutches of someone, well, less savory. Especially not dressed the way he is.

“Nah, he was fine. He was chatting up one of the stable boys when I passed him,” she explains, waving her hand carelessly. Caleb nods again. Looks at her, wondering if she’s planning to address the situation between them or not.

She seems to be thinking about the same thing. There is a silence that stretches between them. Then she lets out another exaggerated sigh.

“What are you planning to do with this guy, anyway?” she asks, apparently deciding to not, indeed, address the big exotic animal in the room.

Caleb shrugs.

“I mean, I could see plenty of uses for him. He’s quite the hunk, if you squint a bit,” she says, and waggles her eyebrows at him. Caleb groans, and covers his face with his hands.

“None of that, please,” he begs, “ _ he _ was bad enough, last night.”

There is another silence. Caleb looks up, and Nott takes the opportunity of him actually looking at her, to do another eyebrow wiggle.

“Well, far be it for me to tell you what to do with your new boytoy,” she concedes, though her smile is still wickedly wide.

She stands up, business clearly done for the moment. As she does, another figure steps through the door.

“Ah, hello there!” sounds the cheerful voice of Mollymauk Tealeaf.

There is another wicked grin sent his way. Though Nott’s teeth are no longer sharp and crooked, she still smiles as though she is going to eat you.

Caleb strangely likes it.

“Wait, Nott,” he stops her, just as she’s about to step around Mollymauk, “how is Yeza doing?”

Her smile immediately leaves, and her eyes are shaded as they’re directed towards him.

“He’s fine. He’s getting better,” she says shortly, and leaves.

Caleb heaves a sigh. He lets his eyes rest on the doorway for a moment, feeling oddly tempted to just lay back on the bed and go to sleep.

There is a tiefling standing in the middle of his room, though, who he should probably talk to.

Looking at Mollymauk, he sees the man holding a wooden board, upon which is an assortment of food. He feels oddly nauseous, just looking at it. The feeling is probably connected with him not having eaten since breakfast, the day before.

“I thought we could both do with some food,” the tiefling says, and goes to sit down beside Caleb. He automatically leans away slightly, then catches himself, and straightens again. It’s not Mollymauk’s fault he is extremely bad at social interaction. No need to give the impression that he dislikes him, somehow.

He is just not good with people in general. He can’t remember the last time he touched someone, and he’s feeling very aware of the one spot where his knee touches Mollymauk’s.

“Here,” Mollymauk utters, and places the board so that it’s balancing on both their knees.

Despite his earlier thoughts and feelings on the matter, he  _ does _ manage to eat a bit. And once he does, the gnawing hunger he’d felt the day before returns with a passion. He eats slowly, taking one bite for each of Mollymauk’s two, and still the meal ends much too soon. The wooden board cleared of bread and cheese, Caleb takes the opportunity to lean back on the bed. His head meets the wall, his neck bends uncomfortably. He stays like that, trying not to look at Mollymauk as he stares into space.

“So…” the tiefling starts. He sounds uncertain. “I… I hope I wasn’t too forward. I took one of your pants. I didn’t really feel it was, well, suitable, to be walking around without,” he says, and motions down to his lower body. It says something about how tired Caleb is, that he didn’t even notice.

“That’s fine,” he says, and closes his eyes for a bit.  _ Just a few seconds _ , he tells himself. He feels Mollymauk get up from the bed. The sleepiness drags at him, clouding his head as he tries to think. There is the sound of quiet shuffling.

“Uhm… Mister Caleb? I was wondering… It’s alright if I go and look around for a bit? I think you need to have a bit of a sleep,” Mollymauk utters carefully. Caleb squints an eye open at him, and sees the tiefling awkwardly hovering in front of him.

“Go ahead,” he mutters. Mollymauk seems to stay another few seconds. Caleb doesn’t actually notice him leaving, as he gives in to the darkness behind his eyelids.

When he wakes again, exactly 37 minutes later, he feels a pretty extreme pain in his neck. Groaning, he sits up.

It is at these junctures in life, that you regret all your decisions up until then.

Annoyingly enough, he doesn’t feel any better. He feels groggy and hurting, and is sorely tempted to lay down on his rather luxurious pillow and sleep the rest of the day.

Instead, he gets up. There are many things that are his responsibility. Yesterday, another had been added onto his shoulders, and Caleb, not for the first time, curses the Bright Queen as he steps over to his closet.

A quick change of clothing. A quick splash of washing water that is several days too old to be entirely clean. And then he leaves to commence his search for Mollymauk.

It takes exactly fourteen minutes and three seconds, before he finds the tiefling. Caleb turns a corner, and there, out in the gardens, sits Mollymauk. The man is waving his arms around, and surrounding him is a gaggle of children. They range from barely old enough to walk, to early teens. Every last one of them is gazing attentively at the tiefling, occasionally breaking out in fits of giggles.

“And then,” he hears Mollymauk saying, “we snuck our way into the courtyard, in the dead of night. We had to be five people just to drag the bear out of there! We thought we’d gotten away with it too, but one pesky goblin had seen us exit. The next day, we were surrounded by at least a hundred people!” The tiefling is miming as he goes, showing the dragging of the bear, gesturing as though he points at the surrounding hundred.

Caleb considers joining, for a split second. Instead, he stays where he is, hidden in the shadows of the stone arches.

“We all fought bravely, and most of us managed to escape. But they managed to get me! So the Bright Queen told me: ‘I sentence you to serve people in the Empire, where the dogs bite without reason and the children are cannibals!” and as they protest, he holds his hands up, “so I hope you’re happy with my story, and that you won’t eat me! I am at your mercy.”

One halfling boy goes forward to try and convince Mollymauk that they are, indeed, not cannibals. A little human girl takes that moment to growl at the tiefling, making her tiny fingers into claws. Mollymauk gives out a theatrical “eep!”, and more giggling ensues.

It ends in most of the younger children chasing Mollymauk around, while the older teens stay to talk amongst themselves.

Caleb turns around, fully planning to leave them be. Children don’t tend to like him, and he doesn’t want to disturb their play.

However, as he moves, a shape in the corner of his sight catches his attention. Looking over, he sees a large woman leaning against the wall surrounding the gardens. Mollymauk seems to notice her around the same time Caleb does, because he waves at her. The children whine as he attempts to excuse himself, one going so far as to hang off his arm.

“Don’t go, Molly! You should stay and play with us all day!” claims one of the human children. He says something in a low voice, and seeing how they nod, apparently convinced them to let him go.

Mollymauk walks over to the woman, looking surprisingly casual as he does so. He has folded the legs of his pants until they only barely touch the ground as he walks. The tunic does not look as see-through in this light as it had the day before.

The woman waits patiently. When he reaches her, he lifts his arms, hands moving towards her face. She bends down, and lets him kiss her brow.

Then she hands him a pair of swords. Accompanying the weapons is a bag, clearly travel-worn, but sturdy.

Caleb really hopes this isn’t what he thinks it is.

Despite his suspicions, he turns away. If Mollymauk  _ is _ planning to kill him, he’ll know soon enough.

His feet carry him to the royal wing, where he goes to find a neat row of ornate boxes in one of the quarters. Then he sits for several gruelling hours, identifying each and every one of them. It proves that they are all the same thing; each box holds a ring, which is enchanted to slightly extend your life force. It is an expensive and exquisite gift. There is also a certain ironic quality to it.

While Caleb is not certain that is the actual meaning behind them, he imagines it might be something along the lines of “I’ll give you these, because you’ll need them, since you’ll only be living once”. 

Which would mean that the gifts from the Bright Queen, had pretty much all been one big “fuck you, you’ll die soon anyway”.

Still, they are not trapped, or poisoned, or cursed. His work done, he leaves a note to confirm the safety of the items. Then he wanders back through the stone hallways. There are few people in the castle, probably because there is a festival running its course in the city.

The war has waged for years, and Caleb gets that people are happy to finally celebrate something again. Most common folk hardly cared about the conflict in the first place. They cared more that their crops were burned, and their houses raided.

For the longest time, Caleb hadn’t actually seen that part. It was all about the battle, and the missions. If someone got hurt in the crossfire, it was of no consequence.

Caleb rubs his arms, and for a second it’s almost like the crystals are still there. Still embedded so deep they brush against his bones, every time he moves.

He doesn’t realize he’s started running, until he’s already slamming the door to his chambers open. A person jumps up as he storms in, but he doesn’t really see them. There are flames licking up his arms, there are the deafening sounds of war machines, there is-

Cold floor, cold wall, against his back and his things and his calves. He’s on the floor, leaning against the wall, and he feels dizzy as he realizes he’s breathing too fast. The attempt to control his breathing fails to help, the controlled breaths no less deep or rapid. 

Time goes. For the first time in a while, he doesn’t know it. He merely feels it slip between his fingers, the amount of seconds and minutes and perhaps hours unknown.

“Mister Caleb…” he hears, and while the sound is frighteningly close, it also feels far away. Caleb merely pulls up his knees, and buries his face in them. The coldness of the stone is making him shiver slightly. He just… Doesn’t have the energy to get up.

“Can I do anything to help you?” the voice says again. Caleb shakes his head.

“Please… Just leave me alone. I can’t- I can’t handle you being here right now,” he lets on, gives away too much. There is no reply. He waits for an eternity, and when he finally looks up, there is no one in the room. A sigh escapes him, relief and disappointment in one. Slowly, he crawls his way to the bed. Then he summons Frumpkin. The cat curls against him, and he  _ breathes _ .

///

In less time than expected, she hears “Yasha” uttered softly behind her. It takes all her self-control not to just whirl around, sword first. Instead, she turns slowly. Smile first.

“Molly,” she greets, her fondness apparent on her face. The colorful man gives her a wide smile in return. Something settles in her chest, something that’s been unsteady all day.

It rubs her the wrong way, to have given her friend away like some kind of shackled beast. While it is all part of some bigger picture, some plan of their Queen’s, that did not make her less ready to charge in at a moment’s notice. Especially the night before.

Who knows what kind of man Widogast is. 

“He chased me out of the room,” her friend says, confirming her doubts immediately. Yasha grips the hilt of her blade, if only to feel the reassuring pulse of its power beneath her hand. 

“Not like that!” he erupts. Yasha frowns at him, and he immediately clasps a hand over his mouth. A quick look makes it clear that they haven’t been discovered.

“We can discuss this on the way,” she says, as though she didn’t feel inclined to march right back to the room he seems to be sharing with Widogast. Sharing rooms doesn’t speak very well for his intentions, either.

“I swear, he hasn’t done anything to me. Hasn’t even touched me, actually. And, well…” Yasha looks at his face, and Molly has the look of someone guilty. Or at least his very own Molly-look of guilt.

They’re in the streets now, the castle quickly disappearing from sight behind the tall buildings surrounding it.

Yasha stays silent, and this prompts Mollymauk to elaborate.

“I think I’m making him miserable. Or at least, extremely stressed out? And, well, that wasn’t really the intention. He’s just… Really distant,” Molly says, and it might have sounded like a complaint if his voice wasn’t so subdued. Looking at him, he doesn’t seem to want any response yet. She’ll let him talk it out first.

“I mean, I wasn’t expecting him to jump down my pants right away. But whenever I get close, he leans away, like I disgust him or something. And he slept at his desk! He could have just told me to take the floor. Plenty of rugs there to make a soft enough place to sleep. I just don’t know…” he trails off, before throwing his hands in the air. When he glances at Yasha, she raises a brow at him. He gives a disgruntled huff, and she chuckles softly.

“Do you want my opinion?” she questions. Molly nods. “Give him time. Sounds like he’s a bit… Y’know, overwhelmed right now.”

Molly’s face looks like someone’s just told him something extremely profound.

“Yasha dear, that gives me an idea,” he says. The rest of the trip, he stays quiet.

She is not one to break a comfortable silence. Instead, she tries to keep a lookout for any trailing parties they might have. No one’s in sight, but that doesn’t really say much. She’s usually not the best at spotting that sort of thing.

Soon enough, they stop outside their destination. This part of the city, there is more a maze of alleyways, than one clear street. As such, they are seemingly alone, in this dank part of the underbelly of the city.

On a sign, written in a curling, elegant pink paint, it says: “ _ The Rosy Buttock _ ”. As bar names go, it’s not the worst Yasha’s seen.

More unusual, though, is the actual red-tinted buttocks painted on the door.

“Are you certain this is the place?” Molly says, and his face tells her he absolutely hopes that is the case. She goes for the door, which seems to be answer enough to his question.

Inside are a scarce amount of patrons. There is a vague, sourceless music in the room, as well as the loud chatter of a table with card-playing folk. They all look fairly rough, and have many tattoos littering their arms and torsos. While Mollymauk glances around, Yasha leads a straight line towards the barkeep.

“Can I get you something?” the older female behind the bar asks. At first, it looks like she is an incredibly tall dwarf. However, once Yasha gets closer, she can see that she is actually standing on a wooden platform. While the dwarf smiles, there is something sharp behind her grin. As well as currently hidden in her hand, Yasha notices.

“While I have no coin, I’d be willing to offer many gifts,” she says, and the smile suddenly turns somewhat more genuine.

“Come with me,” the woman says, and leads them below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yasha rolled very high on perception this chapter.


	3. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making friends is hard to do, especially when they kind of want to kill you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some violence in this chapter. Also spoilers for episode 62 of campaign 2! (Caleb-related)

The barkeep leads them down a small hallway, one that goes alongside the side of the tavern. Along the hallway are arches of wood every few feet, the wall behind sunk in several inches. Each of these sections have been painted with a variety of different imageries. Most of them are borderline pornographic. Stopping beside one of these pictures, this one of a tall half-orc carrying a scantily clad elven man, the dwarf reaches up and pulls down an unlit torch. It acts like a lever, and the wall in the neighbouring archway slides away.

It makes very little noise. Molly remarks this, as he also gets distracted by another image on the opposite wall. It is a painting of a beautiful woman, bright red skin with a flowing, elegant dress. Her horns arch not unlike his own. She smiles gently, a hand reaching towards the viewer.

He doesn’t have time to see more. The barkeep leads them into the archway and down a spiralling stone stairwell. As they walk down, Molly contemplates what they should do, if this leads to conflict. 

A human pushes past them, going the opposite way. They have a high pace, and Molly only catches sight of the blue of their clothes before they’ve disappeared around the bend of the stairwell.

They reach the bottom, and beyond the doorway ahead, is a large, open room. The decorations are borderline gaudy, and Mollymauk takes in the details with pleasure. It is not unlike how he might decorate his own secret lair, were he to have one.

An ornate chandelier dominates the middle of the room. Seeing the height of the ceiling, the room must lie flush with the bar above. The room is littered with different sized tables and chairs, some fairly normal looking plain wood, others carved, and a couple even made of shiny metal.

In one of these more colourful chairs, a tall blue man glances up from his meal.

“Visitors! I have been expecting you,” says the man, in a dark tone that sounds somewhat affected.

Yasha steps forward first. The dwarf woman doesn’t step beyond the doorway, and leaves with a huff when the blue man directs a wink her way.

Around the room, more than a dozen pairs of eyes are directed their way. There is a mix of curiosity and hostility, as Molly and Yasha move over to the blue man.

The Gentleman, they can only assume.

“Well, sit down! Have a cake,” the man offers, shoving a plate towards the two of them. Yasha hovers. Molly turns on his brightest grin, and takes the lead.

“Why, hello! I assume you’re the person we’re here to meet. Mollymauk Tealeaf, at your service,” he says, offering his hand in greeting.

The Gentleman looks at the hand for several seconds. Then he grins back, reaches out, and grips forearms with Molly.

His touch ends several inches shorter than his hand should be. Molly’s grin stays in place. The Gentleman smiles widely back.

“And who is this beauty?” the Gentleman points. Molly can see Yasha’s face harden in the corner of his eye. He knows the expression well.

“I’m Yasha,” she says, and seems to be studying the pastries sent her way.

“So! First matters first. I’ll need some of your blood. Just for safety reasons. I’m sure you get it!” says the man cheerily. His voice has gotten a bit higher since he first spoke, and Molly is becoming increasingly curious about just who this person actually is.

Perhaps the real Gentleman is hiding somewhere. Or he just prefers no one knowing how he actually looks. Either way, Molly isn’t planning to push the issue. Not yet, anyway.

“Blood?” he says instead, making sure to sound less shocked, and more curious. 

“Oh, yes. Just so I know where to find you, if you ever work against me. I could give you a tattoo instead, but I think you’ll prefer this. I don’t have the time right now, anyway,” the Gentleman says, looking quite uncaring about the whole thing. The man grabs a pastry as well, and now that Molly knows to look for it, can see the discrepancy in the illusion.

“You don’t even know what we want yet,” Yasha says, and Molly can see how her shoulders tensed at the idea of giving away their blood to someone unknown to them.

“No, but since you’re not going to leave here without giving me some blood anyway, I thought I’d just get it over with!”

A person has appeared behind him during this discussion. It is a black-coated tabaxi, who is staring at Molly in a way that might have been able to draw blood on it’s own.

They could resist. But there really would be little point in doing so.

“Alright,” he says instead, and draws his blade slightly from its sheath. He catches several of the nearby people flinching, while the Gentleman carelessly continues eating his pastry. With a simple nick of his finger, he holds his hand towards the tabaxi. She is holding a couple of vials, and is clearly in charge of the blood-sample collecting.

Instead of running down his hand, the drops of blood stay by his tiny wound. Then it starts rising. Molly watches in fascination as a trail of blood goes from his finger, and into one of the vials.

Yasha follows suit reluctantly, slashing across her forearm. The tabaxi easily collects blood from her, too.

When Molly turns back towards the Gentleman, it is not the same person sitting there. Instead is an equally blue tiefling, with small curved horns and a wicked smile on her face.

“Great! It’s so stuffy being him sometimes,” she says, and crams the remaining bit of pastry into her mouth. “I’m Jester! Nice to meet you!”

“I think I like this version better, too,” he says. She waggles her eyebrows at him suggestively. Molly has a feeling this might turn out to be easier than expected.

“Uhm, so,” Yasha says, and they both turn towards her. She looks uncomfortable with the sudden attention, as she finishes tying off her new wound.

“We are here for a reason,” she starts, glancing between the two of them. The blue girl has put her chin on her entwined hands, and nods attentively.

Molly remembers the earlier comment, and wonders if that could possibly be the real reason why Yasha is flustered now.

“We- We wish to make an agreement with the Gentleman, or with you, if you speak on his behalf,” she states. Jester makes an affirmative sound, and Yasha pauses, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Well, that is definitely a possibility! I am in charge of the Gentleman’s operations here in Rexxentrum. The question is just, what can _ you _ do for _ me? _” 

Judging by Yasha’s expression, she’s quite put off by the suggestive manner of Jester’s smile. Keeping his amusement hidden from their current company, Molly takes over the talking part. He starts the negotiations by laying several items on the table.

They seem to have judged right. By the look of Jester’s face, she does indeed like shiny things.

///

Waking up with Mollymauk gone, seems to be how things are going to be, ahead. Not that Caleb blames him. He wouldn’t want to stay around if someone was freaking out in front of him, either.

Groaning, he uncurls from his position. Frumpkin doesn’t move, but gives a bright ‘murrp’ when Caleb runs a hand over his back.

Several of his joints sound like they’re popping out of their sockets when he stretches. He should really stop sleeping like this. If he continues like this, he’ll be a crooked old man by the time he reaches forty.

There are things he should do. There’s always things he should do. _ And eating _, his stomach informs him. This gets promptly ignored as he goes to sit at his desk.

However, there is another bodily need that is less easy to ignore. Resigning himself to a walk to the outhouse, he goes for the door.

He barely manages down one hallway and around a corner before he gets slammed against the stone wall.

“Wha-” he gasps, before he feels an iron grip against his throat.

“Make one sound, and I’ll show you how easily your windpipe can break under my fist,” the person holding him there threatens.

It is a tall human, with dark skin and sharp features. The bulging muscles of their extended arm makes the claim all the more likely to hold true.

Caleb is not certain he can get a shield up in time.

He nods.

“Alright. Good. Now, Widogast. You’re going to explain some shit to me, and if you don’t try any magic stuff, you’ll be able to walk on to your business with all limbs attached. Got it?”

Caleb nods again. He lets his eyes fall, to take in the blue robes. Cobalt Soul vestiges, to be sure. He looks at their- at _ her _ face again.

He knows her.

“Aren’t you Dairon’s-”

Really, he should have kept his mouth shut. Immediately on saying that name, he sees the blur of her arm moving. He’s too slow to get the shield up, and the world goes dark for a fraction of a second. When his vision returns, it’s fuzzier, and his mind is similarly muddled.

“Where are they!? Tell me, you fucking-” she stops, and then he gets dragged into a neighboring room. Caleb barely even manages to catch the tail end of steps disappearing past the door they went behind, before the monk punches him again.

“Where.” she demands. Caleb feels his head swing slightly to the side, his muscles strangely numb.

“They’re dead,” he says, strangely truthful. It doesn’t even occur to him that he should, perhaps, lie about this. She does not seem the type to react well to such a statement.

She isn’t.

“You’re lying!” she hisses, and punches him again.

The numbness gives way to a pain that courses through his entire body. His mind returns to him, together with the realization that she is not pulling her punches.

A bare twitch of his fingers pulls up a shimmering shield, and her next punch glances off.

“I- I do not want to fight you, if you would _ just _ stop punching me,” he says, while trying to catch his breath. His hand goes for his pouch, and grabs the components for a spell in case she’s unwilling to listen.

For a second, it seems like her fist will connect again. Then she pulls it at the last moment.

“Dairon can’t be dead,” she says, but there is something cracking there, beneath the surface. 

Caleb slumps against the wall, now that it at least seems like she’s done hitting for the moment. He also keeps a hold of his dimension door components, just in case.

His body _ hurts _. 

“I hardly think I would tell you that if I didn’t believe it to be true, ja?” he says, a tad bit irritably. His voice _ might _ also be a tone or so higher than usual, reflecting on his current pained state.

The monk makes a strangled sound, and her face looks like she can’t decide between anger and sadness.

Caleb keeps talking, before she gets a chance to decide.

“Look, Dairon knew what they were getting into. They knew what was going to happen. It’s not-” but he can’t continue. Can’t tell this person, who clearly loved Dairon dearly, that it was Dairon’s fault that they died. He can’t tell her that when it’s clearly a lie.

The people calling him Friendkiller aren’t _ wrong _, even though they don’t know the whole truth of it.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead, looking at the dirty stone floor. At the worn leather clothing the monk’s feet, stained with dirt and old blood.

There is another movement, and Caleb flinches. She’s thrown another punch, but luckily not at him this time. Underneath her fist, the wood of a nearby shelf has cracked in half. Rags fall to the floor as the shelf topples.

“_ Fuck _,” she says, her voice sounding fragile, compared to the anger from before. 

A long moment goes by in silence. Caleb breathes a sigh, and makes a decision he will definitely regret.

“There is nothing I can do to make this better. If you’re going to kill me, please get it over with quickly,” he says in resignation. While he’s certain he could get out of there, he doesn’t want to. This woman deserves to get her revenge, just as he got his.

For a moment, he thinks she will actually go through with it. Her hand moves towards him with incredible speed, and then-

She slaps him in the face.

“You’re not allowed to do that! You can’t just go offering yourself up like some great martyr, that’s not how this fuckin’ works!”

The anger has returned. Somehow, it’s a relief to have her back at hitting him. Caleb doesn’t think he could handle her actually breaking down in front of him.

“Now, tell me what happened. And I don’t mean a short summary. Give me the whole story.”

It’s like a calm suddenly fell over her. Shoulders down and chin held high, she’s now looking at him with the same focus she’d had earlier. When she had been prepared to torture the truth out of him.

Caleb’s never actually told anyone the whole story before. Nott knows some of it, from having lived it herself. The King knew the rough outlines, but seemed to prefer knowing as little as possible about the whole thing. 

It might be a relief to have the whole thing out there. And to have someone capable of judging him on it.

So he starts talking.

“To understand the whole, you need to know where it started. I am- I mean, I _was_, part of a group of _Vollstrecker_, or, as you might know them as, _Scourgers_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People are getting introduced to the story way faster than I was originally planning. I was just going to do this slow getting to know each other thing between Molly and Caleb, but Caleb's angst and Molly's plans just kept getting in the way.
> 
> So here we are! Suddenly


	4. Vollstrecker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for all the self-deprecation. These people are insecure and I promise it will get better.
> 
> TW: drunk person and description of war and torture in this chapter.

“To understand the whole, you need to know where it started. I am- I mean, I  _ was _ , part of a group of  _ Vollstrecker _ , or, as you might know them as,  _ Scourgers _ .

“Some people called us assassins. But we were not merely killers. We were  _ enforcers _ , sent out on missions to make certain events ended in the Empire’s favor. Whatever it took. During the war, we were constantly sent out, constantly put on new missions. But, as you probably understand, we weren’t  _ good _ . We didn’t protect people. We just… Did whatever it took, so that the Empire would win this war.”

Caleb takes several deep breaths. The monk is staring at him intensely.

“We were tied both to the crown and to the Assembly, but before all, we followed Trent Ikithon. Our teacher, and… Our master. He taught us everything he knew. Both- Ah, I am sorry. You are not interested in this part.”

She looks ready to protest. Caleb raises his hand.

“You are interested in the events that led to Dairon’s death. Well, I had long recognized the rot inside the Assembly. There are many things there, some that I will not tell you, but there was one reason in particular that tipped the goblet. That I simply could not live with.

“Understand, I have done many gruesome things. Killing and torture is only the start of the list. But what A- What Trent was suggesting, it was unthinkable. We- he had, after years of experimentation and research, created a plague that targeted souls. Certain souls being particularly open to this plague… But I knew it wouldn’t stop with the Xhorhasian leadership. The nature of plagues is that they evolve. They take many, many more than anticipated. And so. I knew I had to stop them.

“You have definitely heard about what happened at Bladegarden. That the Assembly amassed one great attack, to retake the stronghold. That we got overtaken by a great Xhorhasian force, and that I… That I, on the King’s orders, destroyed the fortress with the Xhorhasians inside. To stop further assault on the Empire. It. It is not true. That is not what happened.”

Caleb has to take a longer break this time. It takes effort, more than expected, for him not to get sucked into the torrent of memories.

He glances up. The monk looks like she’s hovering between touching his shoulder and punching him again. It strangely calms him.

“Those are the true events, as far as the people and the King knows. The Bright Queen should know the truth of it, and I fear that is why she has sent someone to be at my side…” That would have to be a thought for another time, however.

“The truth is, that I convinced the Assembly to retake Bladegarden. One large force, enough to overwhelm the occupying force, with no loss to our side. We rushed in, and took the entire city back with ease. And then I caused a magical explosion, and killed them all.”

Something cold has fallen over his mind. Caleb recognizes it faintly as the calm he finds during battle. The space that allows him to kill without remorse, to torture unaffected by the screams and the cries.

“Dairon confronted me while I was setting up the- the crystals. And then she said she’d help me. She did not explain why, but it seemed like she already had some plans of her own,  _ ja _ ?” His lips tilt up, though Caleb is sure it is more grimace than smile. 

The monk is grimacing as well. Caleb can’t tell whether it’s disgust, rage or sadness.

“So that, that is the story of Bladegarden. No Xhorhasian force, or great heroic sacrifice. Just me, killing everyone,” and he looks to the cobwebbed ceiling, not able to watch that expression on her face any longer.

A loaded silence sinks between them. His breath feels calm, in contrast to the monk’s. She is breathing heavily, and Caleb wonders detachedly whether it’s from rage or crying.

“So as you see,” he says, after minutes of neither of them saying a word, “I am no martyr. So you can-”

She interrupts him. Not by punching him, or yelling. She just gets up, looks down at him for a moment, and shakes her head.

Then she leaves. She merely walks out the door, her feet stepping without sound on the cold stone. Her cloak trails behind her as she turns left. And then she’s gone.

Caleb is left staring at the space she just occupied. He had expected-

Well, it doesn’t matter what he had expected. The monk seems as faceted as her teacher, and Caleb can easily say he’s never figured Dairon out. Not in the many conversations he had with them, nor from the investigation he had done  _ on _ them.

He slumps against the wall. The door, left ajar, lets in a bit of light. It illuminates the corners of the small room, covered with cobwebs and rat droppings and forgotten rags.

With a sigh, he rises to resume the trek to the outhouse.

///

“Lucien!” a voice stops them, as they’re headed for the exit.

Mollymauk had indeed thought so. It would have been strange, if there were indeed two blood-wielding tabaxis in the Gentleman’s crew.

“Cree,” he greets, as he turns around.

The woman looks conflicted. Molly feels it, himself. Through the years, he has met several of the Tomb Takers. Not all had been happy to see him. From what he has heard of his past self, that is hardly surprising.

“Where- why haven’t you… We all thought you were dead!” she says, and there is real grief in there. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” he responds, and wonders. Not for the first time, he wonders of the people he used to be close to. He’s told himself many a time that he does not care for his past. Yet it’s hard not to, when he keeps meeting people for whom it was a lot more than just a story.

Cree clenches her fists. Then she loosens them again, shakes her head, and embraces him.

Molly hugs her back. He breathes out his tension, his battle readiness, as well as the rest of the air he has in store. Cree’s arms are strong, and she doesn’t let go of her firm grip for a while. He can hear Yasha’s steady breath behind him, and it helps him keep relaxing. Nothing to fear here, not with his friend so close at hand.

Once the woman lets him go, Molly looks up into her sharp feline gaze. It has softened, and Cree is looking at him with clear fondness. Something curls in his stomach.

“Now, Cree,” he says, dreading the answer, “we do have a lot to talk about. But right now I have to- Well, you probably heard Jester. I think my wizard is being currently murdered by this Bow-person, and I don’t actually want him to die,” he tries explaining.

Cree looks surprisingly understanding.

“You better hurry then, Lucien. Beau is fast,” she says, and a little smile curls her lip to show off her sharp teeth. Molly nods, and smiles back.

“But it was good seeing you again,” he lies smoothly, “I was afraid you would want to put me back in the earth after I’ve been gone for so long.”

Molly tries for a cheeky grin, and ignores her wide eyes as he turns to leave.

They hurry back through the building, finding their way through the hidden entrance and out through the tavern. In the streets, it is considerably darker than before. Flickering light is shining through most of the ground-level windows, with a few places also having lanterns lighting their doorways.

Their pace quicken as they walk towards the castle. Yasha taps his shoulder when they’re halfway back the way they came, and she goes off in another direction. Mollymauk keeps climbing the main streets. It takes a surprising amount of self-containment not to start running.

He doesn’t really care about Caleb Widogast. Not more than he cares about any other person. This, he keeps telling himself, as he draws closer and closer to his new home.

Either way, Widogast should be capable of looking after himself. Even against some fast Bow-person. The wizard should be vigilant enough to handle a single assailant.

The more Mollymauk thinks about it, the more he sees the exhausted Caleb, falling asleep on his bed. The Caleb leaning against the wall, telling him to leave.

Despite himself, Molly feels the stress as a solid pressure inside his head. It is not an urgency he feels often, and it takes him an awful amount of control just to suppress the feeling. There is no room for rushed decisions. Even though he is so terribly good at making them.

The feeling does not ease, even as he makes his way into the corridors approaching the rooms. It’s as though the proximity makes the urgency greater.  _ Just a few more corridors, and he will be there- _

A tall, busty lady is blocking his way, leaning against the wall of the corridor and staring into the space by her feet. Molly makes a split decision to take another way. As he does, though, she glances up. A smile twists her face.

“Ah!” and she waddles towards him, an empty glass in one hand. The smell that wafts around her is recognizable even from a distance. It is clear that this lady has had one glass of wine too many, especially with her unsteady gait and distant gaze.

Normally, this is the kind of person Molly would have swindled of all her money in no time. Her dress tells the tale of a person who has not earned a copper of her own fortune herself.

For a moment, he thinks of merely darting past. Yet, when he comes close enough, her hand darts out to take hold of his shirt. The strength of the grip is surprising. Containing his sigh, Molly resigns to taking more time to get past this hallway than strictly necessary.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but-” Mollymauk attempts to put on his most charming demeanour, but the woman interrupts him.

“Oh, how beautiful! I bet Widogast is letting you go all to waste, you pretty thing,” she gushes, a distinct slur to her voice. She leans closer. Mollymauk feels his smile strain.

“I’m afraid I’m-”

“You know, we don’t actually have slaves here in the Empire. You don’t have to stay with that monster. I would take good care of you, and I’d help you get out of this wretched place,” she practically purrs.

Molly’s expression freezes in place. The woman is too inebriated to notice.

“You have the wrong idea. Please leave,” he says through gritted teeth. 

Some of his disdain must be getting through, because the noble immediately stills. Her eyes struggle to focus on his face. Then she makes a decision, because she raises her hand and slaps him. Sloppily, yet it still stings across his cheek.

His finger curls into fists. Molly can feel his blood boiling, almost begging to be used. Just a bit of blindness. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“Madame Baumbach,” comes an icy voice from behind Molly, “You are taking liberties far beyond your station.”

They both glance up. The woman puffs up as though she is going to talk back. Then an actual chill comes over the space, and Molly can feel the start of a spell tingling in the air.

“Leave.”

Madame Baumbach seems to think better of her retort. Instead she huffs, and walks off. Her pace is just short of running.

His veins stop feeling like they’re about to burst. Mollymauk looks over to the wizard, and breathes in the magic of the air.

Caleb still looks desperately tired. Yet there is something different. The way he’s standing tall, the positioning of his hands that makes his intent clear. Molly looks into the wizard’s eyes, and they are blank and emotionless.

A shiver goes through him.

Then he sees a change. Once the woman’s footsteps have faded, Caleb’s face clears. Relaxes. And behind it, Molly sees worry.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and his voice is terribly gentle. Another shiver runs through Molly’s body. This feeling is familiar, and Molly grasps it desperately.

“Ah, Mister Caleb! My saviour,” he grins, and closes the space between them. Caleb’s entire body feels like a particularly rigid stick, as Molly wraps his arms around him. He holds him a while, feeling Caleb slowly relaxing in his grip.

When he lets go, the wizard is looking pointedly at the wall beside them.

“I was actually looking for you, Mister Caleb,” he says, and takes the opportunity to look his master over. The man looks worse for wear, certainly. Blue is spreading across his neck and part of his face. Looking at the black coat, Molly can see a spot where a seam has been ripped open. Other than this, though, the wizard seems unharmed.

“What happened to you?” he asks straight out, and wonders if he’ll get a proper answer.

Caleb pats down his clothes.

“Oh, you know, nothing special,” Caleb says, and Molly shrugs his shoulders. He follows, as Caleb starts down the hallway.

“Mollymauk, I- I apologize, for earlier. It is not something you should have seen,” the wizard says. Molly blinks at him in confusion.

“I thought it was pretty badass. I mean, that woman was practically running when you started on your spell-”

Molly stops talking, when he notices Caleb frowning at him.

“That… That was not really what I meant. I… I broke down, a bit, and it is not something you should have had to deal with.”

Caleb has reverted his eyes back to the floor they’re walking on, and Molly has to stare at him in silence almost all the way to their chambers before Caleb looks at him again.

“Mister Caleb,” Molly starts sternly, as they pause outside the chamber doors. Sharp eyes focus on him. The expression on Caleb’s face looks resigned. “We all have to deal with our own demons. Me being here - You do not need to change in order to accomodate me. It’s supposed to be the other way,” he says.

Those blue eyes stay on him for another moment. Then Caleb turns, and opens the door. Molly feels a bit of that indignant air he’s held escape. Caleb isn’t interested to hear what he has to say. A cold acceptance drapes over him like a gust of chill air. It’s alright. Widogast has no reason to listen to his stupid sage advices. 

Caleb sits down on the bed, and hesitantly pats the spot beside him. As sudden as the negative emotions swept over him, a rush of relief fills his mind.

_ It really shouldn’t matter this much _ , he thinks, as he steps inside and closes the door. Still, he can’t quite help the extra little swish of his tail as he walks over.

Molly sits down beside Caleb, and waits for the wizard to say something.

It takes a while. Molly sees the other shifting, looking at him, looking down at the floor again.

“I do not want you to serve me, Mollymauk,” Caleb says, and once more there is that sharp pain.

“I-” he starts, but Caleb raises his hand.

“I do not want you as my slave, or servant. But I- I could do with a friend. If you- if you want.” The wizard is staring at the floor again. It is strange to see these changes, from cold and stoic to avoidant and uncertain. The tiniest hints of warmth in between. It awakens things in Molly, the part of him that wants to make everything better. The part of him that wants to leave every place better than he found it.

But he’s not leaving yet.

“Yes,” Molly answers, “I’d like that.” Then he reaches out, to where Caleb’s hand is resting in the space between them. He lays his hand over the other’s, and feels the flinch of reaction. Caleb doesn’t pull away. Just tenses, for many long, strained seconds.

“I like touch,” he explains, as though it needs to be said. “But if you would like me to stop, just say so.”

The wizard clearly needs some touch in his life. But Molly isn’t going to force it on him, or anyone else. If people don’t choose it themselves, then it won’t make them feel better either.

Caleb shakes his head, and Molly lifts his hand.

The wizard’s hand shoots after.

“No, I meant-” he says, and those blue eyes are nearly desperate when they’re directed his way.

Molly smiles gently back, and takes Caleb’s hand in his.

“It’s alright,” he reassures, “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A question for anyone who reads this: Is the chapter length alright? Right now I'm updating quite often, but the chapters are fairly short. I can make them longer, but then the update speed will definitely go down.
> 
> I hope you're all feeling alright, and promise that there are brighter times to come! Also more awkward hand-holding.

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta love that "slave given to good guy" trope.
> 
> This will later contain high amounts of porn and kinky stuff. If you don't like that, then this might not be the story for you.
> 
> It will also contain a lot of action, a bit of slow burn, and rediscovering the characters and their alternate fates in this world.


End file.
